


Harvest Festival

by sootnose



Category: Finnish Mythology, Mothman (Folklore), Norse Religion & Lore, Original Work, Scottish Mythology
Genre: Choose Your Own Adventure, F/F, F/M, Gender-neutral Reader, Huldra, Human/Monster Romance, Interspecies Romance, LGBTQ Jewish Character(s), M/M, Multi, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Nokken - Freeform, Nymphs & Dryads, Other, POV Second Person, Reader-Insert, Skogsrå, Water Spirit, hulder, nøkken
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-17
Updated: 2019-03-17
Packaged: 2019-11-21 19:41:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18146582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sootnose/pseuds/sootnose
Summary: You've seen ads for a bonfire celebrating an archaic harvest festival in your town. Dressing up is optional but encouraged, all in the spirit of the fest.Might as well pop by, right?(No choices yet, WIP)





	1. The Beginning

Your face is warm, but your back feels cool.

A fire crackles in front of you, painting its surroundings in restless incandescence.

Around the bonfire, unfamiliar people flit about, chatting with each other. Everyone looks strange, and the animated light only serves to stretch shadows and make everything appear more surreal. You aren't certain if you'd recognise anyone you know here. Maybe by voice.

There are some superheroes and sexy nurses, but they seem to be a minority. Most people's outfits are imaginative or very skillfully made, like good cosplay.

It's said that fair folk may walk among people during this time of year. It's not hard to believe, right now.

You pull the old fur coat you’re wearing tighter around you and fix your birch bark mask with curved horns of plaited straw affixed to it. The night chill closes in fast when you step back from the bonfire.

With the bright, crackling fire warming your back, your eyes take a moment to adjust to the darker surroundings.

Of the people milling about, the thickest crowd surrounds a table, people lining up on one end and leaving on the other with steaming paper cups and doughnuts.

Farther away, on the forest road leading to the bonfire, you spot the shape of a pale-maned horse and a person standing next to it with the reins in hand.

From the corner of your eye, you think you see movement in the tree line. You turn to peer into the trees. You aren't entirely certain, but it looks like someone peeks out from behind the trunk of a pine.

**First, you're going to…**

> Get a hot drink to warm your fingers. 🔒  
> Go see how much the horseback riding costs. 🔒  
> [Find out who is lurking in the trees and why.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18146582/chapters/42909470#treelineFirst)


	2. The Tree Line

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You investigate the tree line.

Obviously, the identity of whoever is hiding in the forest is the most curious matter at hand.

You stride towards the tree line, but slow down as you approach, having second thoughts about the wisdom of this.

It could be anyone. It could be someone who wants to turn these festivities into a massacre. If you get supremely unlucky, that is.

You stop a good several steps away from the tree line.

"Hello? Is anyone there?" you call.

A shuffling sound precedes the answer. "Um, yes?" says a soft voice, and you relax slightly. That doesn’t sound aggressive.

"Why are you hiding here in the trees?" you ask. "I mean, um." A wave of mortification descends over you as you realise they might just be relieving themselves and here you come to disturb them while they're doing their business.

"My costume isn't very good", the voice replies quietly.

You give a relieved laugh, taking a couple of steps closer to the trees. "The little kids running around in those Spider-man costumes with muscle padding have set the bar pretty low, I'm sure it's better than that", you say. "Unless that's what you're wearing, in which case I'm sorry and in need of a swift foot-from-mouth extraction surgery right about now."

Your rambling is rewarded with a soft laugh. "It's a witch costume, but it's not very covering, and I'm scared that people will react badly…" they explain, trailing off towards the end.

"I saw at least two sexy nurses", you argue.

Silence falls, punctuated by the snapping of a twig and barely audible footsteps.

A dark shape appears from behind a tree, and you need to look up to their face. You expected someone shorter, and certainly someone… different.

You are glad of your mask. The being in front of you doesn’t need to see your shocked expression.

They clutch their small, delicately jointed fingers together in front of their plasticky witch costume. That, of course, isn't what gives you pause.

It is the abundant mousy brown fur covering all their visible body and their inhuman face. Their face is dominated by large eyes, dark and wide-set, but giving flashes of red eye shine as the being moves their head. The fur covering makes the rest of their face indistinct. The wide brim of their pointed hat might partially hide their face if they weren't so very tall. A crushed velvet cape trails behind their back, hiding in its shadows what you can only assume to be wings. The barest hint of lighter horizontal stripes is the only thing visible of the wings in this light.

"Do you think they'd be afraid of me?" they ask quietly.

"I don’t know", you say.

If they conducted themself with any more confidence, you might be scared. Their soft voice, timidly clasped hands, the way they hunch to make themself seem smaller, all serve to whisk away any of your fright of the unknown before it even has the chance to take hold.

You can’t help but want to tell them it will be fine, but the thought of dragging them into the midst of humans only for them to be mistreated is soul-crushing.

You glance back towards the bonfire, and from the corner of your eye, notice the moth person shy back farther into the shadows.

"I could bring you something warm to drink, and a doughnut, if you'd like", you say, feeling rotten for suggesting such a miserable consolation prize. "And I could try to get a read of the crowd", you tack on.

"You would do that?" they ask, lifting their clasped hands under their chin, sounding so grateful it all but physically pains you.

"It's the least I can do", you say forcefully and give a firm nod. "I'll be back in just a bit, I promise."

They give a series of quick nods.

> [Cross the clearing back to the bonfire.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18146582/chapters/42909569#afterMothBonfire)

[](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18146582/chapters/42909569#afterMothBonfire)

 

* * *

 

[](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18146582/chapters/42909569#afterMothBonfire)You hurry back to the tree line as fast as you can without dropping the doughnuts or sloshing the _glögg_. As you approach the trees, you realise you didn’t ask the moth person’s name before, but at least you can do that now. 

“Hello?” you call into the forest. “Sorry I took so long.”

The moth person peeks out from behind a tree and steps back into view, and you take a second to get re-acquainted with their appearance. It is still somewhat jarring. 

You offer up one of the cups and doughnuts, and the moth person steps carefully out of the cover of the trees. They bend down enough to take the mug and the paper plate on top of it from you. 

“Thank you”, they say solemnly as they bring the still steaming cup up to their face. You switch your doughnut plate to your free hand so you can do the same, but you pause with your cup raised to your mask. Your gaze is glued to the moth person’s face in morbid curiosity. 

It’s not very eventful. The lip of the cup disappears into the fuzz on their face, and anyway, you mostly see the bottom of the cup.

_Stop being a weirdo_ , you chastise yourself and push your mask up to your forehead so you can drink the mulled juice. You take a hearty sip. The warmth soaks into your body as you pull your mask down and gaze up at the moth in front of you.

You manoeuvre your _glögg_ cup and doughnut into your left hand to free the other. “I never introduced myself”, you say, sticking your hand out and doing just that.

The moth pauses and lowers their cup, depositing the doughnut plate back on top of the cup before taking your hand. Their hand is small in yours, which feels odd since they tower over you.

“I’m called Lior”, they say, pronouncing the R sound in the back of their mouth.

“Lior”, you repeat, mimicking their pronunciation. “Nice to meet you.”

You and Lior let go of each other’s hands, and you pause. “Oh, by the way, I met a couple of nice folks who said we could hang out with them if you’d like to”, you say. “It’d probably be safer, just in case someone decides to be a douche, but they said it’d probably be fine because we humans are really self-centred. Do you want to go?”

“Oh! Yes, absolutely!” Lior says, stepping properly out into the open.

“You know, when you said the outfit wasn’t covering, I really thought you meant it was _revealing_ ”, you laugh as you turn to walk with them. 

“How do you know it isn’t terribly indecent for my kind?” Lior asks, ducking their head. You think they smile. You think they’re being  _cheeky_. They pick their doughnut off its plate and start nibbling on it. 

“How did you even get the costume? It looks nice on you, though.”

“A friend got it for me.”

 > [Walk to the bonfire with Lior](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18146582/chapters/42909569#withLiorBonfire)

 

* * *

 


	3. The Bonfire

You weave over to the wooden table serving as a sales counter and settle into the queue.

The prices are low enough you aren’t even torn about it being your treat. You pay and turn to set the cups of hot, winter spice-infused grape and blackcurrant juice down on the corner of the table. You have to do some manoeuvring to be able to carry both them and the homemade doughnuts.

You’re balancing paper plates with a doughnut each on top of the cups of glögg when a drawn-out note cuts through the cool autumn night. The sound hangs in the air before it clicks and you recognise the sound of a violin.

The note morphs into a lively tune, and you pick up the cups and trail towards the source of the sound. A ring of interested audience is already forming around the fiddler.

He’s dressed up as Dracula with the usual popped-collar cape and prominent teeth. For a moment you hope the teeth are the real deal, but no, it’s painfully obvious that they’re just as cheap and plastic as the cape. The suit underneath, with a red waistcoat and dark trousers, appears much higher in quality. A blue silk neckerchief holds up the collars of the dress shirt under the waistcoat, and the legs of the trousers are tucked into tall leather boots. As he moves, a long braid of dark hair sways behind him in stark contrast to his skin.

You sense someone parking in your vicinity in what feels to you like a deliberate move. You take a peek.

“I appreciate your look”, the girl says without preamble.

You glance around you to confirm she is speaking to you.

“Very season-appropriate”, she continues, and you experience a revelation. She recognises the oddity that is your outfit. Right.

“Thanks”, you say, giving her a small smile before you remember that yes, your mask indeed covers your face. You contrive to chuckle instead.

She flashes a quick grin, and you find yourself fixating on her mouth. That was an awfully fangy grin. You give her a once-over, and she goes still under your gaze.

A headband with two plastic pumpkins on springs is nestled among her lion’s mane of light brown hair. She has long, pointed ears with tufted tips. The furred end of a cow’s tail sits twisted around one of her ankles. Otherwise, you don’t think she’s dressed up as anything in particular; her quirky combo of a skirt and jeans doesn’t recall anything you recognise.

When you fail to comment, she sticks a hand out at you. “Pernilla Svartbäck, nice to meet you.”

You clasp her hand and introduce yourself. The backs of her hands and the first knuckles of her fingers have visible hair in the exact same tawny shade as the tail-tip, ear tufts and her head hair. If you hadn’t just met the moth person in the forest, you’d shrug it off as incredibly skilled makeup and prosthetic work.

“You’re staring, aren’t you?” Pernilla asks, then adds in an undertone: “Don’t do that. Some folk get touchy about it.”

You stare at her a moment longer, this time in confusion, then turn to watch the fiddler all but dancing as he plays his violin.

“Okay. Thank you”, you say to the girl next to you, then turn back to her. “I have a friend who’s nervous to come out here”, you say quietly. “They don’t blend in well”, you explain, trying to put it delicately. “They look like a humanoid moth.” Or less delicately.

You pause, mulling over how to word this, prompting Pernilla to look at you with a pinched expression that wrinkles up the bridge of her nose.

“Um, I figured you’d know better than me if it’s safe for them here”, you conclude.

Pernilla contorts her face thoughtfully. “People don’t like to pay attention to things that defy their worldview, and even if they do on accident, they’re more than happy to explain it away”, she says.

“And everyone around here knows cryptids are fake, anyway”, another voice drawls.

You whirl to face the sudden company, vaguely outraged at someone listening in on your private conversation.

The person has short, wavy hair, mostly covered by a furry trapper hat, and some sparse facial hair. Their off-white shirt and coat both have geometric embroidery around the necklines.

They give you a slow wink and a fierce grin that makes Pernilla’s flash of teeth look absolutely everyday in comparison. This person’s teeth look like they would be a better fit in the mouth of a bear than a human.

You must still give off enough of a cranky vibe that they sigh and gesture at Pernilla. “I’m a friend of hers. The name is Kuutti and the gender is nonbinary in case you were wondering.”

You give a slow nod and introduce yourself.

“Neat”, Kuutti comments and gives you a languid, closed-lipped smile, likely hiding their teeth.

“You and your friend could hang out with us”, Pernilla says suddenly. “If someone gets nasty, at least they’d be in a friendly group.”

You perk up. “That sounds like a good idea! I’ll go ask them if they’d like to do that”, you tell Pernilla and Kuutti.

> [Head off.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18146582/chapters/42909470#gloggForMoth)

 

* * *

 

 

You continue chatting back and forth on the way over to the bonfire. You intermittently sip your  _ glögg  _ with your mask pushed up, finishing it before you start looking for Pernilla.

It takes you a while to spot her among the crowd, as the fiddler has stopped playing, but eventually, you find the troll girl with Kuutti. They’re chatting with the fiddler with their backs to you, and in the corner of your eye, Lior lifts a hand and gives the fiddler a tiny wave. The fiddler waves back and Pernilla notices and turns to look.

“Welcome back! And hello there!” Pernilla calls when she notices you and your companion. Pernilla and Lior shake hands and exchange names, while you peer over at the fiddler. 

Since Pernilla and Kuutti moved their attention to Lior, the fiddler now speaks with a ginger girl with fox ears and a white-tipped tail.

The ears are clearly fake, the headband they’re attached to is visible, but the tail moves as she gesticulates. She wears an ensemble similar to the fiddler’s; a dark blue suit with breeches that end right below the knee, a red-striped waistcoat, grey knee socks and buckled shoes. A brown leather belt with a fringe of messing charms hangs low on her hips. One might call her a handsome woman.

She spots you looking, despite your mask, and turns to flash you a smile that makes you feel like she knows something about you even you don’t. You don’t know whether to feel awkward or incensed.

**What do you do?**

> Turn away. 🔒

> [Walk over and introduce yourself.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18146582/chapters/42910652#talkToWights)   



	4. The Wights

You take the few steps over to the pair and wave. “Hi”, you say.

The girl smiles and nods. The fiddler replies. “Hi. I’m Väinö”, he says, offering his hand for you to shake. “It’s nice to meet you.” Despite the lisp caused by the plastic teeth, his voice is terribly musical, and the thought crosses your mind that if you could swim in it, you would. You hold onto his hand.

“My name is Lastica”, the fox girl says, leaning a little closer to you, and you release Väinö’s hand with a start. Lastica presses a hand to your arm. Her eyes are dark and thousands of little sun-kisses adorn her beige skin. You feel like a soaked rat dragged to the shore.

Väinö hums, and you turn to look at him. “How do you know Lior?” he asks.

A nervous laugh bubbles out of you. “We only met today, actually”, you say, overly conscious of Lastica standing right next to you, her arm pressing against your coat.

“Um, how do you know Lior, then?” you ask Väinö in turn. You want him to continue speaking.

You’re faintly disappointed when Lior steps up on your other side and responds: “He’s the friend who got me my costume.” Their voice is soft with a smile.

Väinö rests his chin on his fist and passes his pale eyes up and down Lior’s form, then nods, giving them a pleased smile. “I did a great job, even if I say so myself.”

Lior beams and nods, and you have to agree. The waist is slightly high and the costume looks short against Lior’s tall legs, but all in all, for a visibly low-quality costume, it suits Lior.

Kuutti steps up and fishes a red string out of a belt pocket. “Bend down for me a bit, will you, Lior?”

Lior curiously bends down, and Kuutti tugs on the brim of their pointy hat to get them to bend their head farther. Kuutti ties the red string behind the hat, leaving long ends hanging. There are spiked metal plates sewed on the string where it circles the hat. There aren’t enough to reach all the way around, but it still looks pretty cool.

Lior straightens when Kuutti steps back and touches at the spikes and the hanging ends curiously. “Oh. Thank you”, they say uncertainly.

“No prob”, Kuutti responds.

“So”, you say, pointedly looking down at Kuutti’s legs. They’re bare between their curly-toed natural leather boots and the hem of the almost knee-length off-white wool coat they’re wearing. “Aren’t you cold?”

Kuutti shrugs, showing a tiny sliver of fangs as they grin. “Nah. I’m well-insulated.”

The hair on their legs is the usual sparse human hair, so you assume they must refer to fat. They are stocky and on the curvy side, so you could see that.

“Oh”, you say oh-so-brightly. Lastica chuckles.

“You just got to move if you get chilly”, Kuutti says, shimmying their hips a little. “But it takes more bite in the air than this to make me cold.”

“Okay”, you laugh. “Lucky.” You pause, changing tracks. “What’s the story behind your outfit? It looks kind of, er, old-fashioned.” You glance at Lastica and Väinö. “Yours, too. Are they traditional?”

Lastica smiles at you. “I’m a traditional kind of girl.”

“They’re folk dress suits”, Väinö says, then adds with a chuckle: “The cape and fangs aside.”

Kuutti makes a noise in their throat. “Eh, mine isn’t a legit folk dress outfit. More of a mix and match thing.”

“Where do you get these types of clothes?” you wonder aloud.

“I made mine with mine own two hands”, Kuutti says, giving a wiggle of their fingers and a lazy smile. “It’s a hobby.”

“My suit is my grandfather’s old, and I tailored it to fit”, Lastica explains, pulling out the lapels of her jacket and puffing her chest. “It is the Helsinge man’s folk dress suit because that’s where I am from.”

“Mine’s mostly a hand-me-down, too”, Väinö says. “But the trousers are new.”

You feel a twinge of disappointment at Väinö’s shortness. His voice is such a smooth and lyrical tenor, you would gladly listen to him read a long, long audiobook. Or a series.

Lastica taps the back of a finger against the cheek of your mask. “I like your _kekripukki_ costume. You’re one of the few humans I’ve myself seen don one. It’s nice to see.”

You give a small laugh. “Thanks, Lastica”, you say. She gives you a warm smile, but there’s still that little spark of knowing mischief in it that makes you wonder.

Lastica steps back, giving you space, and you glance around at the group.

What about the horseback riding?

> [I still want to check that out.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18146582/chapters/42910802#horsebackRiding)  
> I’ll pass. I doubt it’ll be as interesting as these folks.

* * *

“I should probably start getting back”, you say, jabbing a thumb behind you, towards the bonfire, “but it was nice talking with you, Yrjänä.”

“Likewise”, he says, inclining his pumpkin. He turns to his horse and mounts with practised ease. He collects Kauvas’ reins into his hand and bows his pumpkin to you. “I don’t often get to have such light chats”, he says, steering Kauvas to turn with the reins and probably his legs also. “Many thanks.”

“It wasn’t a chore”, you say, taking casual backwards steps towards the bonfire. “Goodbye!”

Yrjänä nods. “Farewell”, he says, clucking his tongue. The horse starts off in a gait, then picks up speed, trotting off towards the forest.

You wave at Yrjänä’s receding back and turn to jog back to the bonfire. As you approach, you notice the crowd has thinned out. You spot some people crossing the clearing. They head through a narrow patch of forest to a road where most of the humans would have parked their cars.

You find the little group of wightfolk you had inserted yourself in earlier. Lior waves at you.

Pernilla hooks an arm around one of yours and beams. “Welcome back!”

You smile at her exuberance.

“So, we were thinking of going to a party that Lastica knows, do you want to come with?” Pernilla asks.

Do you?

> [Sure!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18146582/chapters/42911684#forestLior)  
> Honestly, it’s getting pretty late and I should really start heading home. (End story) 🔒


	5. Horseback Riding

You’re pretty sure Lior will be just fine with these four, especially since Lior and Väinö already know each other from before. You walk up to Lior anyway.

“Hey, I want to go look around a bit more, you’ll be fine with these folks, won’t you?” you ask them.

The fur on Lior’s face shifts in a way that you think implies a smile. “I will. Thank you, for being so kind to me.”

“It was my pleasure, really. I’m just glad I got to meet you”, you say.

“You too”, says Lior. 

“I’ll try to find you again later”, you tell them, then head off, giving and receiving in return a little wave as you depart.

You head over to the forest road. The horse and the human shape are still standing there. The person looks to be checking the horse’s tack. You speed up, worried they’re preparing to leave. The peaks of frozen mud crunch under your shoes as you approach.

The person lifts their head, and you stop in your tracks. On their shoulders sits a carved pumpkin.

You’re immediately suspicious. You continue your approach, slower this time.

“Hello”, the person says. “What brings you all the way over here?” His voice is gruff, but his tone is pleasant enough.

“I thought you might be offering horseback riding”, you say uncertainly. Judging by his reaction to your approach, you’re guessing that isn’t the case.

The man gives a dry chuckle. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

“What do you mean?”

He shakes his head… pumpkin. “I don’t know why I came here.”

“Oh. Well. I don’t think I really do, either”, you admit. “It sounded like something to do.”

“Something to do”, he muses. “Sounds about right.”

You step closer, stopping some two steps away. “Does your horse have a name? Is it nice?”

The man turns slightly towards you, and you spot his right sleeve hanging empty, tied to a knot about halfway up. “She’s a good horse”, he says, petting at her muzzle with a gloved hand. “Her name is Kauvas.”

“Kauvas. Can I…?” You take another step closer, offering your hand, palm-up, fingers close together. 

The man moves back, nodding. The horse presses her muzzle into your hand and licks at your palm. You snort, pulling your hand back and wiping it against your coat.

“She’s licking salt from your palm”, the man explains, scratching the white star on the horse’s forehead.

“Sweet”, you say sardonically and pat the side of the horse’s thick caramel-brown neck. The mare tugs her head from under the man’s palm and pushes it against you, rubbing her head on you roughly as if you’re some kind of an itching post. You grunt against the sudden equine assault, but bear it with as much dignity as you can.

The man laughs softly. You wheeze out a laugh of your own as the horse leaves you alone and shakes her head, rendering the ends of her blonde mane momentarily airborne.

“Ha, I can just feel the respect”, you joke.

The man hums. “She does that to me, as well”, he says, a smile colouring his voice. He turns to face you properly, offering you his left hand. “I should introduce myself. I am Yrjänä, the local headless horseman.”

It takes you a second to change tracks and clasp his hand with your left, but you shake his hand firmly and introduce yourself. “It’s nice to meet you, Yrjänä, Kauvas”, you continue, nodding to the man and his horse in turn. “Uh, I hope you aren’t the sort of headless horseman that makes people disappear”, you then add.

Yrjänä gives a pained laugh and shakes his… pumpkin. “Not usually.”

“Not today?” you ask hopefully.

“Not today”, he confirms. He turns to his horse, taking a light hold of the mare’s reins. He tilts his pumpkin-head in a way that suggests he’s looking at you from the corner of his eye.

You’re fairly certain that in the darkness of the carved inside of the pumpkin, there’s nothing.

Time to go?

> No, I want to talk more to Yrjänä. 🔒  
> [Yes, let’s go back to the others.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18146582/chapters/42910652#wightsLior)


	6. The Forest

“Sure, why not?” you say.

Lastica hums. “Alright. Follow me.”

She leads you to the same tree line you found Lior and enters the forest. You follow closely behind, worried you’ll stumble in the dark if you fan out with the others.

Lastica glances back at you with an orange-red glimmer of eyes and you stumble before catching yourself. You glance around at the other wightfolk. 

“Väinö?” you call, and he turns to look at you with a curious sound. His eyes flash white like a safety reflector.

“Uh, never mind, it’s not important”, you say. You turn to look at Pernilla over your shoulder. She meets your eyes. Her eyes don’t seem to reflect light.

You face forward again and follow Lastica in silence, stumbling occasionally over the shrubs and mounds of moss.

All the foot-lifting and stumbling makes you feel overheated with the coat. You look down to open the top buttons. Between steps, your stomach lurches, and when you look back up, you don’t recognize the forest. The trees are twice or thrice as thick as they were the last time you looked. The forest floor is more even under your feet, so at least you aren’t stumbling. Narrow swathes of golden light filter in from beyond the tree trunks. The canopy above you is heavy, oppressive. You have an uneasy sense in your chest, of not belonging. You only realise the existence of a faraway hum of life when it’s gone. You’re too aware of the sound of your breath, the crunch of five sets of footsteps; yours and those around you.

Lastica stops to dig something out of her jacket pocket. “You should turn off your phone”, she says, flashing the greenish light of her phone screen at you.

You make a noise in assent and fish out your phone. Your hands tremble faintly. You grip your phone harder. Your eyes catch on the network indicator. There’s no network. That’s not so weird, it sometimes happens for a little while. What is, is how the battery indicator is visibly draining right under your eyes the longer you stand there staring at the screen.

You turn the phone off.

“You might as well throw a phone at waterfowl here”, Lastica quips, flashing teeth as she slips her phone back into her pocket. You follow suit. Pernilla is also turning off her phone, a newer model than Lastica’s Nokia 3310.

You glance around and then pause. In the direction you thought you came from, a fallen tree lies across the path. Its roots reach towards the canopy in skeleton-finger fractals. Pale beards of lichen hang on the roots and the trunk feeds a multitude of conks.

You never stepped over or bypassed this tree.

“What direction did we come from?” you ask, looking at Lastica carefully.

Lastica shrugs, then glances around. “Ah, that way.” She nods her head to your left. You peer in the direction indicated by her, then shake your head.

“Do not trust your sense of direction here yet. You will get a hang of it after a while”, she says, her white-tipped tail catching your eye as she moves closer with a soft smile. She lays a hand on your shoulder and nods behind her. “Come."

You let out a shaky breath.

> [Follow her.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18146582/chapters/42911795#partyLior)


	7. The Corner Dance

As you walk on, the swathes of light solidify into a well-lit wooden building. The sound of music carries into your ears; you think you recognise the sound of an accordion. Underneath the music, the occasional laugh breaks through.

“Some folk set up a corner dance in this grain drying barn”, Lastica says as she pushes open the door, buffeting you all with indoor warmth.

“Hm, time to strip”, Kuutti says, stepping inside while untying the front of their coat and slipping their hands out of the sleeves. They leave the top of the coat hanging down over their belt but tie the sleeves together. They push up the sleeves of their shirt and pass their eyes over the crowd, some of whom have turned to watch your entrance.

Pernilla follows, taking off her coat.

“You’re letting all the heat go to the magpies”, Väinö says behind you, spreading his arms and herding you and the hesitant Lior inside so Lastica can close the door behind you.

You sniff the warm air.

"Is something burning?"

Lastica shakes her head. "The stove used to heat the barn doesn’t have a chimney, so it releases the smoke inside, and it is ventilated through a small window. The scent sticks to the wood."

You nod. That explains the blackened walls and the lingering smell of smoke.

The group of you hang your coats and capes on a coat rack. Lastica folds her jacket and sets it on a bench next to the rack as well.

"There should be some drink here", Väinö says between tugging out his fake vampire teeth and pocketing them. He then turns to you. "You shouldn't drink anything given to you by someone else." His violin case is slung over his shoulder by a strap; seems like he can’t bear leaving it unattended.

Lastica nods. "Väinö is right. Just in case, if someone else has touched it, you shouldn't.”

Slowly you nod. "Alright", you agree. This sounds like one of those 'don't eat fae food' things.

Väinö nods, apparently satisfied with your compliance.

The bulk of the crowd in the barn seems to be young adults. Beyond those standing on the edges of the barn, many a pair dance along to the music. Some dancers are clustered together in group dances, as well.

Väinö wades off through the crowd, and one after the other your group peels off after him, until only you remain.

You follow.

Next to the opposite wall of the barn, you spot a table manned by two women; a young woman in a folk dress, a kerchief over her white hair, and a similarly dressed matronly troll woman with a bib apron.

“Oh, they have rutabaga pasties”, Kuutti notes, sauntering up to the table. Several shallow, woven baskets sit on the table, most of them covered by tea towels.

Kuutti stops by the table, then looks up to the girl sitting on a stool behind it. “What do they cost?”

“Oh, no, no, they’re free!”, she says, giving a sweeping gesture over the baskets. “We had a baking bee, so we could fill the bellies of hungry dancers.”

“Neat”, Kuutti comments and picks up one pasty for each hand, immediately digging into one. “Ooh, these are good. Thanks so much.”

“You’re welcome.”

Lastica approaches the table as well, but rather than taking food, gravitates toward the troll woman pouring beer for guests.

"Booze!" Kuutti realizes and strides past Lastica towards the few bottles next to the jugs of beer.

Lastica grabs onto a flap of their hat and yanks them back. "You can wait to get rat-assed", she admonishes.

"Sure, I can, but do I want to?", Kuutti asks with a grin, taking another bite of their pasty.

Lastica sighs and takes the cup of beer offered to her by the troll woman, and then the next one she pours out, pushing it into Kuutti’s hands. “Drink your homebrew, Kuutti.”

What would you like?

> Rutabaga pasties  
> Homebrewed beer 🔒  
> I’d rather dance 🔒

* * *

You walk up next to Lior, who speaks with the tow-haired woman.

“No, there’s no meat in them”, the woman says.

“What about dairy?” Lior asks.

“There’s churn butter.”

Lior tilts their head. “It’s home churned?”

“Sure is. From our own cows’ milk.”

Lior hesitantly picks up a pasty and takes a bite, chewing thoughtfully.

You reach past them to pick up a pasty of your own. The crust is an earthy brown colour. When you bite into it, the sweet, soft-baked rutabaga filling all but melts on your tongue, contrasting with the dark taste of rye in the crust.

You turn to watch the dancing pairs and groups with interest as you eat. It’s generally thought that folk dances are boring or an old people’s hobby, but the dancers seem to have fun.

You look around at your companions. Anyone of them would probably agree to dance with you if you asked. They have all been quite friendly, even going as far as watching out for the ignorant human. You may not be that familiar with these dances, but they aren’t the sort of dances that require any great feats of physicality or skill.

Who do you ask?

> Kuutti. 🔒  
> Lastica. 🔒  
> Lior. 🔒  
> Pernilla. 🔒  
> Väinö. 🔒


End file.
